#[shrug]

[kaysdenofchaos]

Phobias aren’t funny. How would you like it if someone made fun of your phobia?

eh?/gen

[hiskillingjar]

Forcefem (All/MC)

forcefem you will always be famous. sorry for being quiet for the last few days, i was being a social butterfly for halloween, so uhhhh kink first week of november be upon ye.

day 28: forcefem second person. same mc in strade’s section as these fics (cis male) and cw for genital mutilation aftermath, this oc in law’s section (trans female). general cw for misgendering, but uh. kind of the nature of the beast, ennit?

ren 🦊

"Come on, stop crying! It's not that big a deal!"

"It's not a big deal?!" You shouted through your tears, trying to wipe them away with the heels of your hands, but more just kept coming, somehow more rapidly the more you tried to stop them. "Y-You ruined my binder, Ren! Do you have any idea how big a deal that is?!"

Ren looked almost annoyed, petulant like a teenager, huffing in irritation at your tears. 

"Jesus, you're acting like I just burned down your house." He complained with a roll of his eyes. "It's just clothes. Stop being so damn sensitive."

"It's not dumb," You said with a big sniff, looking again at the shredded tatters of spandex and cotton that used to be your chest binder. When you owned so little anymore, anything that was taken away felt like an attack on your very personhood. At least, that’s what you were telling yourself.

Your tears can’t have been for any other reason. Surely. 

"A-And I'm not being sensitive, either." You added indignantly. “Anyone would be upset by something of theirs being…ruined…”

"Whatever, you're still acting stupid over nothing." He said, his voice idling and drawling, as he paced closer towards you, before reaching down and pinching your chin between his thumb and index finger, to force you to look up at him. "Besides...it didn't even fit you anymore. None of your clothes do now." He gave you a sharp smile, mean and spiteful. "You've gained weight~"

"Well, obviously I've gained weight," You said with a grimace, jerking your face away from his touch and pushing away his hand. "You don't let me outside to run or let me go to the gym. And all the carbs you're feeding me, it's no wonder..."

"What? You complaining about how I've been feeding you, now? Could you get anymore ungrateful?" He said as he squatted down to your level, smirking at your grimace and his tail wagging behind him, evidently finding your pain amusing. "Besides...what good is a pretty little thing like you, being all skinny and muscled, anyway? You’d look wayyyy better all soft and sweet."

"Don't call me pretty," You said quite quickly, giving him another glare (trying to stop another batch of tears running down your face). "I-I'm not...w-whatever you're trying to do, stop it. It's not funny."

"Oh, don't be like that." He said with an amused smirk, crossing his arms over his chest and pressing them into his bent knees. "You're pretty sweet when you want to be, and cute as a button, and a bit shy; you’re the perfect girl, if you let yourself be."

He shifted onto his knees completely then, pressing himself closer to you as he straddled your thighs and sat in your lap, forcing you to look him in the eyes.

"And a complete emotional wreck, too, hah! Just like a real girl!"

"Ren, I mean it," You said, your tone warning in spite of the new batch of tears rolling down your flaming cheeks. "D-Don't call me a girl."

"Why not?" He tilted his head, giving you an almost innocent look, widening his eyes and blinking them coyly. "You're pretty, delicate, sensitive...all you need is a better haircut and you'd be the perfect girlfriend.” His innocent look split into a teasking smirk, showing off wet fangs. “So damn cute, even while crying."

"I'm not fucking-" You took in another gasp as he pressed his body up against yours, one of his hands sinking into the (overgrown) back of your hair, his own brushing against your wet cheek and neck as he scented you. "I'm not your girlfriend...nhh."

"I mean, yeah, obviously not yet. I don't date tomboys like you." He tittered cruelly as the hand in your hair pulled your head back again, forcing you to look up at him as he leaned in, close enough that you could feel his breath against your skin. "I like girls that actually know how to be girls, you know, instead of trying to pretend otherwise. Dresses, make-up, cute stuff like that. You're gonna have to get way less butch if you wanna be my girlfriend."

"I don't want to be your fucking girlfriend!" You shouted through a new batch of tears, trying to tighten your body again when he slid his knee between your thighs and pressed it against the front of your jogging bottoms.

"You will, trust me." He said with another cold smile. He then moved his free hand down to your hip (spilling over the waistband of your bottoms), the sharp points of his claws digging into your skin as he leaned in even closer to you, his lips hovering just inches from yours. "I mean, none of your actual clothes fit you anymore, with all that weight you gained...so, I'll have to get you new stuff that'll fit what I want from you, from now on...hm!" His smile turned more playful as he let out another titter. "Funny how stuff works that way, huh?"

"Nnff..." You bit your lip, feeling more tears hit your neck. "Why are you doing this to me..."

He reached up to wipe some of the tears from your chin, a cruel smile forming on his features as he did so. 

"Because I want to. Becuase I can." He leaned in closer, lips gently tracing your tear-streaked cheeks. "Besides, I'm being nice, really. I'm taking really good care of you. I feed you, I make sure you don't go anywhere, I'm even offering to get you some new clothes...don't you like being with me?"

"I hate being with you," You said, eyes fluttering shut as his lips traced your jaw.

"That's not fair." He complained with a pout to his voice, his teeth grazing your skin as he left kisses down your neck (what wasn’t concealed by the collar, anyway). "You don't even give me a chance. We get along, don't we? We have fun...sometimes at least..."

He shifted on top of you, then, the knee between your legs pressing harder against you, forcing a small gasp out of you as the pressure made your core light up and twist, painfully. 

His lips brushed against your chin, inching up so he could speak directly into your ear.

"You definitely have fun when I touch you.” He whispered. “Or do you think I don't notice how you react when I touch you like this?"

"I...nhhh," You bit your lip harder, thighs attempting to squeeze around his knee and stop him from making you feel good. 

His words were certainly at odds with his actions, much like your discomfort was at hideous odds with your burgeoning arousal. 

"W-What, you don't want to do this with a boy...?" You stammered between gasps. “What’s…s-so wrong with that?

"You still don't get it, do you?"

Ren pulled his head back to look you in the eyes, the grip on your hair relenting for a second so that he could grab the back of your collar, like he was holding the scruff of a kitten.

You cringed internally at your own demeaning comparison.

"You're not a boy.” He asserted, raising his brows. “You're not even a girl, not really. You're just mine." He pressed more pressure against your crotch and moved it, up and down, stimulating you even more, watching intently as you moaned, brokenly, and started to tremble underneath him.

"And I'll do whatever I want with you."

law 🥀

"You're so, so pretty, Law,"

You murmured lowly, pressing your lips to the back of Lawrence's neck as you carded your fingers through their long, blonde hair, still wet from the shower and newly sleek from the conditioner you had paid a little extra for than usual.

"Mm, your hair smells good, too.” You added with a gentle (if slightly teasing) smile. “It's nice when you take the time to look after it, huh?”

Lawrence shivered, their hands clenched tightly between their skinny thighs, and leaned back against you, a soft moan leaving their lips. The tips of their ears had turned a faint pink (they didn’t go red, they just went pink), and they looked back at you, a shy smile on their face.

"I...suppose so," They breathed out with a nervous little chuckle, trembling as your touch grazed over their shoulders.

"Do you not believe me?" You asked with a grin, moving closer to their naked body, lips trailing down the sharp, curved slope of their spine, down each notch of bone protruding through their skin. "Do you not believe you're pretty...or, mm,” You left kisses in your wake, holding them tight. “That it's nice to treat yourself nice?”

"I...I believe you," They breathed out with a shudder and another moan, leaning back against you, their body still trembling involuntarily as they talked. "I...believe that I'm pretty. Or, I mean, mm, if you say I am." They added in a coy mumble and another chuckle.

"Right,” You drawled with a huff and a shake of your head. “Well, if that's the case…” You added softly, moving you hands to the front of their naked chest and touching them, groping flesh that wasn't there (thought it was easy to pretend otherwise, especially when they were so eager about it too). “Do you believe me if I say how pretty of a girl you make?" 

Lawrence inhaled sharply, another shudder running through their body as you touched them. They arched their back against your chest, pushing themself up and towards your touch. 

Their eyes were closed, their breathing shaky and uneven, another soft moan leaving their lips.

"Y-yes...I believe you…” They murmured, thighs clenching together even tighter, stopping them from moving their hands and touching you, too..

"Good girl," You murmured, a slight smile pressed into Lawrence's skin as the pad of your thumb traced over their nipple, squeezing lightly. "So...would you prefer to wear one of my dresses tonight? Or just your skirt?”

They leaned into your touch with a sort of neediness that you adored, like a plant leaning towards the sun, like they craved every little bit of attention and affection you gave them. 

They tried to speak, but only a strangled and shaky gasp left their lips, the words failing to form at all.

"....one of your dresses…” They barely managed to stammer.

You smiled even broader, leaving the bite of teeth at the nape of their neck, a little red mark left behind on their pale skin in the shape of some kind of demented kiss, before you stood up and paced towards their closet, which you had been gradually moving some of your clothes into over the last couple of weeks.

You were here so often, it made plenty of sense for them to be there.

From there, you produced a silky night dress, black and low cut, lace trimming the hem and low, plunging neckline. It was too short on you, so it would barely cover Lawrence at all.

You licked your lips.

Lawrence was just sitting on the bed, their long legs over the side of it, watching you, their sea-glass eyes following you to and from the closet, like a dog with a steak in front of it. 

They never could stop looking at you. It was as if every motion you made captivated them.

It made you feel sexy and desired. 

You probably hadn't felt that, at least not properly, until you met Lawrence.

"Stand up," You said, in the low, quasi demending tone of a teacher as you approached the bed again. “And step forward so I can get behind you.”

Lawrence immediately obeyed, a tight swallow making their Adam’s apple bob harshly underneath their pale throat, standing up from the bed and waiting, obediently, for your next instruction, their body shivering in anticipation.

"Good girl," You praised with another broad smile, before stepping closer to Lawrence and removing the dress from the hanger. "Because that's what you are, isn't it, baby?”

Another soft, involuntary shudder ran through Lawrence's body.

You hadn't realised just how much they thrived off of your praise and attention, how much they craved it, before you started doing this sort of thing with them. But now that you knew, you took every opportunity to make them feel good, just to see those shudders and shakes, and the desperate expression on their pretty face.

"Yes…” Law nodded hesitantly as you stepped closer to them, their voice a low whisper.

"Tell me what you are, Law," You instructed again, pacing behind them and guiding their arms above their head, your own fingers wrapped around their wrists.

“I’m, mm…” Lawrence lifted their arms, their hands trembling as your fingers traced over each stark vein (each gruesome scar) standing against their skin. "I'm a good girl…”

"Mm, there’s much more than that though, isn't there?" You asked, pressing another light  kiss to their shoulder as you pulled the dress over their head and watched as the cool, black silk slid down, covered their lanky body. "You're a girl now, even if you weren't mine at all. Isn’t that right?”

"I'm...I'm a girl..." They repeated back to you, their arms held above their head (you hadn’t told them to put them down you, they were so obedient, such a good girl),  their voice still a soft whisper, almost as if they were making a confession, just for you to hear.

"And you like being a girl," You reached around their body again, running your fingers over their chest again, feeling for the minute little bumps of their nipples pressed up against the tight fabric. "Even if you tried to argue otherwise, when we first me...it just took me seeing who you really were, who you were hiding…didn’t it, sweet girl?”

Another soft moan left Lawrence's trembling lips as your hands slid over their chest, caressing each sensitive spot to the peak of their arousal. They closed their eyes, their body trembling with each gentle touch as their arms folded down so their palms could support their head, heavy with arousal. They pushed themself back against you, as best they could, seeking you out, desperate to be close to you.

It felt good to be needed so intensely.

"I...I like being a girl..." They repeated again, a little quieter than before, another shaky gasp leaving their lips.

"Yeah? Does it turn you on to be a girl?" You asked, your tone sickeningly cloying as your hands, long fingers, bony knuckles, just like theirs, (you had so much in common, more than you’d have with anyone else, truly) reached into the breast cups of the dress and touched them, skin to skin. "Does it make you feel good?”

"Y-yes..." They gasped out as your hands roved over them, their breaths shaky and uneven and just a little bit needier, needing to be touched and played with. "Yes it does…”

"Say the words, Law," You murmured, pressing a kiss to their ear, your hips pressing against their buttocks, the bars of your cock cage rubbing against the silky nightdress.

Their breaths were getting shorter and shorter, and more shaky with each passing second, each touch of your hands and your lips against their neck, their shoulders, making them more and more desperate for you. Their heart was pounding fast under your palm, and their voice was a needy, quivering whisper as they obeyed.

"...It turns me on...to be a girl.”

"Very good, Law," You praised, squeezing their chest one more time before reaching down and sliding the front of the dress upwards, revealing the hard length of their cock, protruding almost comically from between their legs. 

"You almost make me feel like I'm not forcing it out of you~”

strade 🔨

“Going to the chapel, and we’re, gonna get married~”

You took in a shuddering gasp as the stained corset was laced tight around your waist, the white silk sullied with dotted fingerprints of blood, like some perverted bastardisation of the sanctity marriage was supposed to stand for. 

The dress, with its lace, crushed velvet, and big sleeves, was a relic of the eighties that reminded you of your mother (would you ever see her again? Could she bear to look at you now, if you did?). It was too big on you, hence the corset to cinch it in and the high heels to pull the skirts off the grubby, basement floor.

It smelled like a thrift store. It was a welcome change to the smell of blood.

“My, my, don't you look lovely?”

A voice cut through your dark thoughts, his voice (sadist, devil, monster), as he pulled the corset a notch tighter (staining the ribbons red as he did it), hooking his chin over the puffy shoulder of the wedding dress as you gasped and wheezed, trying to catch your breath when it felt like it was being choked out of you.

“You look lovely in white, liebchen,” He teased, a shit-eating smile audible in his voice, like it always was. "Mm, well, red and white. I'm sure we'll be able to get those stains out, though."

"The corset," You wheezed slightly, placing trembling palms against the silk and steel boning, as he tied the final knot at the small of your back to keep it in place. "T-Too tight..."

Strade chuckled in response, his breath hot on your ear, before he grabbed your hips and pulled you back against him, his arms encircling your cinched waist (making you wheeze all the more) as he leaned in, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to your cheek.

"Are you telling me you'd prefer your wedding dress to be loose, my lovely bride?" He teased. "You'd prefer if it was ready to just...fall right off you?"

"That's not what I, nh," You groaned as his lips moved down to your neck, where the high neck of the dress was hiding your shock collar. "That's not what I meanttt..."

Strade continued to kiss and bite along the edge of your neck, marking your skin with purple and red lovebites, his eager hands roaming across your trembling body to explore every inch of you, every inch of the body that he had constructed for you.

"Are you already that eager to start the honeymoon phase, liebchen?" He teased, nipping your ear, his hips (and the stirrings of an erection) pressing against your backside through the layers of silk and tulle and lace. "My, my...such an impatient bride~"

"Mm..." You trembled even more, the cheap high heels barely enough to keep you upright, feeling the odd stirrings of deeply nonconsenting arousal settle in your core. 

Since he had mutilated you behind reproach, arousal didn't feel the same, feeling, instead, painful and twisting, like you had an ache at the very centre of yourself.

You wondered if women felt that way all the time. 

You wondered if they hated their arousal, as much as you did.

His lips lingered at the nape of your neck, his arms winding even tighter around your waist as he held you close, his lips travelling up your jaw and to your overgrown hairline, his breath hot  as h whispered into your ear.

"Mmm, why are you shaking so much, sweetness?" He hummed lowly, his tongue tracing along the shell of your ear (making you shudder and cringe), as his hands wandered downwards, tracing along the edge of your corset, the edge of your dress. "Are you not excited for our wedding night? I hope you’re not getting cold feed, I’d be crushed!"

"It's not a wedding though, is it?" You said, squeezing your eyes shut as he gathered up the skirts of the dress, exposing cheap, costume store stockings that hung loosely around your scarred thighs. "A wedding is supposed to be sacred...special..."

“What, you don’t consider this sacred?” He asked, the callouses of his fingers tracing over the raised skin of your scars, making you hiss and shudder in his arms, inching closer and closer to the cheap lingerie set that covered the metal cup bolted to your ruined crotch, mangled and messy, best to be hidden away. 

"There's nothing sacred about this," You breathed out. "This is...disgusting. I'm disgusting..."

“No no no,” He murmured with a slightly scolding tone, his lips on your pale cheek as he pressed his palm against the cup, stimulating nothing but reminding you what he did to you. “You’re not disgusting, liebchen,” He breathed against your temple, his own crotch warm and hard, only getting more excited. “Just unique. You’re perfect for me, my lovely bride.” 

He grinned against your cheek, sharp, cannibal teeth ready to bite down and mangle you even more. 

“My sweet little monster.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. 

A monster. A twisted bride of Frankenstein, created out of some ruined lust and forced to live in a body that would never be yours again.

You would have cried for a thousand days, if you had any tears left inside of you, anything at all but disgust and shame for your mangled body.

You let out a dry sob, looking down at the cement floor, hugging yourself tight.

“No need to be so upset,” He murmured into your skin, his hands reaching back to gather the skirts of the dress up, slowly revealing your buttocks.”I’m here, I’m right here…”

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" You suddenly screamed like a dying animal, yanking yourself away from his arms in a rare moment of hysterical defiance, almost stumbling in your high heels as you threw yourself across the basement, just to get away from him. “DON’T EVER TOUCH ME AGAIN!”

“Woah!”

Strade stumbled backward at the force of your sudden movement, his hands held up in surprise and a look of shock on his face. 

"D-Don't...touch me..." You said again, swallowing down your rage as you looked down at yourself, at the stained lace, the velvet, the ill-fitting dress forced to fit your gangly body. "God," You moaned, reaching up and covering your face with your hands, eyes suddenly full of tears that you thought you’d never shed again. "Oh god, oh god...I can’t do this…I can’t, I won’t…"

"Now, now," Strade's voice was gentle albeit stern, as he slowly took a step closer to you, his hands still raised like he was approaching a feral cat. "Calm down. I know you're frightened. You've been through a lot...I'm not so far removed that I don't understand that."

You peered at him through your trembling fingers, not moving away when he took your shoulders in hand, his touch characteristically warm and worryingly comforting.

"It's okay," He murmured, pulling you against his chest, his broad, masculine frame enclosing you, small and almost feminine in contrast, in his embrace, wrapping his large arms around your slender, yet broken form. "You're allowed to be scared. You're allowed to be lost...I'm here. It's okay. You're safe."

You knew you were anything but safe. But it made you feel better, just to hear it.

"Please don't hurt me," You breathed out, pressing your face against his chest. "Please...I'll take all of this, I will...j-just don't hurt me again…”

"Shhh, shhh," His hand gently stroked through your unwashed hair as he held you, rocking you slowly in his arms, like he was comforting a real wife. "You're being so good, liebchen, so good. I won't hurt you, I promise. I'm not going to hurt you.” His palm cupped the back of your skull, keeping you pinned against his body. “You're my good girl, my beautiful bride. That's all I need you to be. Good. Obedient. And mine."

Your expression twisted a little, the shameful surge of arousal shooting through you again.

Had he ruined you, both body and mind? 

Or had you always been like this, somewhere, deep down?

You didn’t want to think about that, if you could help it.

"Okay...okay. I’ll…be good."

[t4ct1c4l-fluk3]

I MISSED THE DISCUSSION OF IF I COUNTED OR NOT I mean like anthro jaguar counts for most people and there is some nonstandard equipment involved so.

bucky's cat follows my porn blog now what the fuck

ok well hi @offical-alpinebarnes i hope you enjoy your stay. if you ever wanna fuck i don't really know how to do that with a cat but since you're sentient it'd probably be chill

that's a lie. one time i had my boyfriend touch my dick while he was transformed into a cat. but that's the extent of my experience fucking cats. so not really an expert.

[stench-core]

sometimes I wonder if people remember that:

'tranny voice' - even shortened to 't voice' - was something that specifically targeted trans men and like, the whole brand of harassing 'transtrenders' applied to trans men as equally as it did trans women, and our king [sarcasm] kalvin garrah was the main driving force of anti-trans masculine rhetoric such as 'you can't have big boobs' 'you can't like your boobs' 'you can't wear colours' 'you can't dye your hair' 'you can't be effeminate' 'tranny voice' 'you can't have a weird name' 'you can't be disabled' 'a real trans man wouldn't say that' and so on, bolstered by mega transphobes blair white and arielle scarcella

when we're told we aren't actually targeted in any specific way when, yes actually, we were and are targeted in specific ways, but the only people who talk[ed] about it were other trans men, trans mascs, and nonbinary people who were specifically targeted by this trans medicalist rhetoric, and then trans women who stood up for us were [and still are] told that they were 'forcibly transing little girls'

[noxious-muck]

The Goat Game (and the lamb is there too)

[purple-ravaged]

hands off parenting :]

[skeletood]

ohhh the things they would have said to each other :(

[gemsalive]

re: that HEFTY siffrin sweep on id5’s isat favourite blorbos poll — this might sound silly but i do actually think it’s kinda fascinating that isat, as a game so inseparably steeped in (for lack of a better way to describe it) queer fandom culture, managed to so completely sidestep the common Fandom Phenomenon that i suspect was behind the poll in the first place by creating a main character that is also overwhelmingly the fan favourite character for once.

obviously there are any number of factors we could point at to explain the extent to which siffrin nomiddlenames nolastnames manages to grab people and absolutely not let go, but personally i think one of the most interesting ones to consider is the one specific to the medium — that is, how siffrin subverts the “silent blank slate video game protagonist” archetype in such a way that happens to be primo brainrot breeding grounds.

like, when a video game dev makes a silent protagonist it’s usually a bid to maximize immersion by closing the aesthetic distance between player and character as much as possible, right? which is especially true of rpg video games — players find connection in the generic, as that is what gives you the freedom of motion to insert yourself into the story in whatever unique shape suits you best. you are your character and your character is you.

(as ever, post ran long. yall know the drill. tossin in a quick header pic before thoughts on blank slates & blorboification continue under the cut)

and then you’ve got siffrin, who is expressly pointed out to be the taciturn type; who when initially giving the player exposition about their journey so far doesn’t seem to hint at a life or history or even really any motivations outside the journey; whose every thought and action is narrated in second person so as to keep tracing and re-tracing the connection between him and you.

even their design — all darkless and shapeless, bundled up in that big cloak, as if an invitation for you to fill it in with whatever lets you relate to them most! at this point they are their own character for sure, but they also have enough very clear parallels going on with the silent protagonist archetype to feel more than accidental.

of course, as you keep playing you start to recognize that his blankness is much, much more than just a grab at immersion; his apparent lack of backstory, itself a fundamental piece of backstory. this is where he flips dramatically in the player’s perception from “generic vessel for story delivery” to “thoroughly multidimensional character trapped within endless torment nexus custom-built to target and exacerbate all his very specific worst traits rooted in very specific traumas”.

yknow, the good stuff !

but by then you have also been playing enough to be feeling the effects of the thing isat’s design does best of all. i’m talkin bout that ludonarrative lockstep baby. every piece of isat’s gameplay is designed to make you feel what siffrin is feeling — you understand by now that he is not a stand-in for you, but all the same you share in his frustration, his grief, his rare moments of joy and the subsequent heart-in-your-shoes devastation when that joy is inevitably poisoned — and through it all, the desperate grasping for anything new — all as if they were every bit your own.

so in this way the connection is maintained, even if you were someone for whom siffrin’s particular traits & struggles might not otherwise cause you relate to them at all if you had encountered them elsewhere, in a setting where you weren’t actively controlling them as a player. siffrin still gets to carry all the “just like me fr” impact of the blank slate protagonist in the tropes he embodies and in the game mechanics’ design, while totally free to evolve completely into his own character and keep you relating to closely them all the same. now toss back in the fact that said traits & struggles very much ARE of a flavour that a great many people Would Tend To Relate To and just like that you’ve got a perfect storm cookin.

too individual and compellingly written to be an empty vessel for plot delivery. too closely connected with the player’s emotional state to be a story observed impassively from the outside. he has 92 mental illnesses and for the low low price of free u can give him yours to carry too. nobody is doin it like him. congratulations on your well-deserved nose sniffrin nomiddlenames nolastnames <3

[calnoc]

the reason why hockey players have to wear helmets with visors is to prevent them from making out

[proxolagist]

something shitty for fun

[words-of-wrath]

I know this has been said over and over a thousand times. But, people, please take care of your tops/doms.

There's a reason a trans service top is such a hot commodity, a reason we don't see a lot of them.

In my experience, which is transfem, we are seen as predatory. But it goes deeper still than that for just about any top and dom.

See, when subs express their desires it's often at their own expense. "Please rape me, choke me, drown me, etc."

But a dom expresses their desire at someone else's expense. "I want to rape you, I want to choke you, I want to drown you, I want to cut you, etc."

Its easy to blow off a sub expressing desire at their expense in a kink space. But I feel like it's harder for people who don't understand these types of kinks to be comfortable around us.

Which usually leads to exclusion.

You can be discomforted with me as a service top with a snuff kink, but excluding me is actionable and not okay for a healthy environment.

And subs, bottoms, doms and tops need aftercare to. I get that we are doing horrid things to you and you need to be taken care of afterward, but holy hell you need to check in with us as the ones doing these things at your expense. We love you! That's why we do this, but please take care of us to.

Often I see subs and bottoms expecting all the attention and care and giving none of it back.

Please be kind to your tops and doms, especially when they have very hard kinks such as a myself.

🖤🖤🖤

[tibbycaps]

O_O -_-

[lockedtombmemes]

sometimes i think about how profoundly harrow would hate all of us

[astrozure]

i'll give you everything i have

[moondrifterr]

qibli and winter!!!!!

[venomous-qwille]

Sketching on my lunch break, fiddling around with new styles. I really need to settle on one smh. [ID: ink brush style drawing of moon descending on the wire, he is holding a doll of himself in his hand and looking at it with a sad expression. The colours are very saturated, with a purple to red gradient in the background /End ID]